Chapter Seven – Crew Change
Slick's new hobby, the kid he picked up in Greensboro, was named Parker, after a soap opera character his mother had the hots for. At least that's what he told me. Nominally he stayed in a room with me, but he slept with Slick, which suited me fine. Both of Parker and Slick gave me a creepy feeling I can't explain.
Which is a logical problem, since I didn't feel that way about B. J. and I'd actually been to bed with him. Once. Of course, Vicki had been in that bed also. My God was she good at managing two men. You'd think she had practiced all her life at timing what goes where and when. The night had centered on her, as you would naturally expect, but it's hard to be in bed with two people and remain aware of only one. B. J.'s hands (and a couple of times, I think, his lips) felt so different on me from hers. I don't know what to think about it; but I do think about it.
“You look at where you're going and where you are and it never makes sense, but then you look back at where you've been and a pattern seems to emerge.” That's from Zen and the Art of Motor Cycle Maintenance. Applying it to my own life was hard; applying it to Slick's life was easy.
We started the last month of the northern season at Starkey Speedway in Roanoke. The night before the race, I expected to go for a massage but Slick never asked. He and Spencer went out together and I didn't see either of them until the afternoon of the race. Slick not only lost, he lost spectacularly, bouncing off the upper wall in a turn. He was furious.
“I been tellin' you since Manassas she was pushing! Fix it!” he snarled at his crew chief.
Chess shared a look with me while Howard went to console Slick. “I don't want to talk about it,” he yelled at Howard. “Parker, where the fuck are you?”
“You think we'll go to Martinsburg?” I asked Chess. I liked Martinsburg. It was a smaller town than Roanoke.
“I think we'll stay here 'til he likes the way the car tracks. I'm hopin' the frame isn't bent or we'll be looking for a new car and he hates new cars. New boys are ok; but new cars are big problems for Slick.” We pulled the wheels and put the car on the rack. Three points made contact; one didn't. “Know anything about welding?”
“Nope,” I said.
“You're about to learn ...” Chess sighed.
It took three days to get the body-frame put back together in a manner that suited Chess. As Chess predicted, I learned a lot abut welding. Work on the frame didn't need to be pretty; but it had to be strong. The new rear mount passed a magnaflux test but it still warped a tiny bit upward, which would put uneven weight on the tires.
“But it's the up-hill wheel; I think it'll work.”
“Your Zen intuition?” I asked.
“That and some experience,” Chess added. He phoned Slick with the news that the car was ready for trials; but by the time Slick got to the track the wind was gusty and rain threatened. The trials were postponed until morning.
“Let's get a massage and a pizza,” Slick proposed.
“Sure,” I said. “Parker comin'?”
“Who?” Slick asked. “Let's go now,” he urged, wanting to end discussion.
“I'm all greasy! I need to get cleaned up.” It was mostly my hands, but a shower wouldn't have hurt at all.
“You can take one there,” Slick insisted. He was already out the door heading for his truck. Chess gave me a sympathetic glance and I followed Slick.
“Hmm ...” Slick said dubiously as we pulled into an almost full parking lot.
“Sorry guys, we're full; can you come back in a couple of hours?” the manager said. Slick gave him some money and asked if he couldn't try harder. He went into a back room to consult with a coworker. He returned with the bad news. “I got one room and one girl.”
“That'll do,” Slick said. I guess that the room was normally used as a storage closet. It had two massage tables with plastic pads that looked badly used and a bunch of cartons. “Here, let's push 'em close together so she can work in the middle.” Slick pushed the tables closer together until they were about a foot apart. “Well ...” he said looking at me expectantly, “Let's get nude!”
Oh man, my heart sank. He sounded so eager. I dragged out taking my clothes off, but eventually they were all piled up on a carton against the wall.
“Hop right up here!” he said. He was lying on one table totally naked, leaning back on his elbows watching me. He tugged on his dick a little and it started erecting. “Man, am I ready!” he said looking over at me. “How about you, Racer? Oh … not so much, I see …” I was not ready at all. “Stroke it a little,” he encouraged and began stroking his.
I was saved from that humiliation by the entry of our masseuse. She was actually pretty cute and not too old … thirties, maybe. She looked at me and screwed up her face. “He's all greasy!” she complained looking at my hands.
“His dick isn't!” Slick said. “What are we here for anyway? He's not gonna massage YOU!” She began very tentatively. “That's right. Get him hard.” She succeeded at her first task. “Go down on him! Come on, take it all! That's right,” Slick coached.
I watched her head bob on my cock. It felt pretty good but I wasn't close to coming and I wasn't sure the chick's technique was ever going to get me there. I glanced at Slick. He was watching her with rapt attention. He spit in his hand and stroked his dick which looked ready to explode any second.
“Ok, now me,” he demanded. She switched tables and swallowed Slick. I figured that would take his attention off me, but he kept staring at my cock. “Stroke it, Racer, so you don't go soft,” he said.
“My hands are all greasy,” I complained.
“Right … Switch back to him,” he told the masseuse. “Get him off.”
She switched and resumed sucking me. Again, she was nice, but nothing was happening. “Put your finger in his ass,” Slick urged. “He likes that!”
“What? No I don't!” The poor girl looked from my face to Slick's and back again.
“Who's paying you?” Slick demanded. “Finger him.”
“JEEEEZ!” I gasped as she earned her pay. Whatever she did with her finger enhanced everything I was feeling about ten times. In short order I was bucking my hips and pumping a load into her mouth. She removed her finger and my sensual balloon slowly deflated. Reality returned with the sound of her hawking as I watched her spit my semen onto the floor.
“ME! QUICK!” Slick demanded and I was very sorry to see how closely his orgasm resembled mine. Pumping pelvis, red and swollen cock, gagging girl … I felt a sudden distaste for having so much in common with him. I was reminded of the dude in Tolstoy saying sex destroys love. Of course I didn't love Slick, but now I was repulsed by him. I grabbed my clothes and asked the girl where the shower was.
“What shower?” she asked. “You think this is a gym?”
Back in the truck I told Slick I couldn't eat pizza without getting cleaned up first. Thank God, he agreed. He reached over and patted my thigh. I removed his hand immediately.
“Oh, sorry … I thought you were what's-his-name ...”
“Parkerr.”
“Right … He was a bad luck kid. Just plain snake-bit.”
I got back to my room and discovered all Parker's stuff was gone. My room was clean and tidy, with just my stuff left. Every trance of Parker was gone. I hoped he got his pay before he left.
I spent enough time in the shower to drain the Roanoke River. I soaped and re-soaped a couple of times and rinsed and rinsed. Shampoo, lather, rinse, repeat … I shaved only my face. I decided I was going to let my pubes grow back - I had had my last blow job ever. If a Bible and a judge had been in the shower with me, I would have sworn off sex forever. I finally got out and dried myself. I had steamed up the mirror, which was good because I didn't want to look at myself. I put on my clothes and felt better and a lot cleaner.
A knock at the door. What? It was Slick carrying three pizza boxes.
“I wasn't sure what kind you wanted so I got a bunch of 'em.” He walked in, put the pizzas on a dresser next to the TV. Despite the season, he was dressed for summer, a long-sleeved t-shirt and a pair of shorts. He sat on my bed and spread his legs. About an inch of cock fell out of the leg of his shorts. He tried to tuck it back in. It wouldn't stay.
“I guess he wants to come out and play,” Slick joked, pointing at his cock and leaving it exposed. Cocks are cocks, right? Pretty much all alike basically? So what was the big difference? I sure didn't want to see his. His was repulsive.
I went to the phone and punched in a room number. “Chess! Slick has brought a bunch of pizza back to my room. WAY more than we can eat? Are you and Howard hungry?”
If Slick was disappointed, he didn't show it. Miraculously, his cock disappeared back into his shorts and he laid out the pizzas on the dresser. Chess and Howard arrived and the four of us ate pizza and talked about the car and progress with the season. With winter coming on, the action would move farther south, out of the snow and into the sun. The MartinsBURG stop was out, but the MartinsVILLE meet was coming up and it would be the last race in Virginia until spring.
“You up for traveling south and west,” Howard asked me.
“I guess,” I said. “Sure,” I added, not sure how sure I really was.
The next morning the weather was fine for trials. The track was damp enough from the overnight rain to keep the dust down and the wind was minimal.
“Drive it on the flats. Scuff up the tires,” Slick said to me. “You're good luck.”
I took the car for six laps gradually increasing the speed, skidding a little in the turns, and then returned to the pit. “Seems solid to me.”
Slick took it out and tried it on the banks. Chess watched saying the tracking looked good to him. Slick added speed in measured amounts each lap and things really looked classically perfect. He drifted into a turn and the car was coming out of it fine and then trouble. The car spun toward the infield. Slick corrected or maybe over-corrected and hit the wall, bounced off and rolled.
The car didn't burn, but that was the only good thing. It was totaled. Slick survived with just a couple of breaks, an arm and a collar bone, which was also good – good for next season, that is. This season ended then and there with Slick in a hospital.
Howard promised me he'd call when Slick was ready for work, but I wasn't sure he meant it. There were no certainties for any of us. Still, it was nice that he pretended there were. Chess was more realistic and said I'd find work easily, and he offered to be a reference. I accepted a check, thanked them both, and headed home.
By the time I got on the road it was six and getting dark. I-81 was moving nicely but once it got dark it was just me and the trucks. I got off and cut over to US 29. I was far enough north that there were no big cities in my way, just a nice ride back to Warrenton.
“Hey ...” I said to B.J. who was surprised to see me. “I could have called I guess, but everything was so uncertain … and then I was on the road driving … So I drove.”
He made me a vodka tonic and I told him the story, the part about the wreck and Slick being hospitalized.
“So I'm unemployed and looking for work,” I wrapped up.
B. J. updated me on his life as a car salesman and former pot dealer. “The hours are better,” was his summary. We lapsed into silence until B. J. brought it up.
“You know we never have talked about that night … I guess we never had the chance.”
“We had plenty of chances before I left, Beej. We just didn't talk about it.”
“I guess you're right.” He started to say something more but he stopped.
“B. J.?” He looked at me and I had to say it. “I loved that night. I think I loved it best 'cause you were there.”
He looked like he didn't know what to do. So he got up and made us two more drinks. And then he came back to the couch and sat speechless, sometimes smiling, sometimes worried. “Racer ...” he began.
I interrupted. “Are we ok?” I asked him.
“We are very ok.” I could hear the relief in his voice.
“Good, that's important to me.” I yawned and took a swallow of the fresh drink. “I'm going to bed. It's been a really long day.” He nodded and I started for my room but stopped. “Beej, that night … did you kiss me?” From ten feet away I could see him blush.
“Twice on the shoulder, once on the neck.”
“I thought so.”
More needed saying, that's for sure; but I really was tired. I brushed my teeth, got into bed, and felt so glad to be there. I could almost feel each muscle in my body relax. B. J. came to the door and whispered, “Racer, I'm glad you're home.”
“Wait,” I asked him. Another one of my dumb questions: “What does B. J. stand for?”
“Beckley Jonas,” he whispered and gently closed the door.
